Sherlock's Toddler
by BenedictCumberfans
Summary: When Sherlock comes across a small, innocent 3 year old within his Homeless Network he decides it's best for her to come and live with him at Baker Street. Follow the journey in which he tries his best to help her grow and learns some important life lessons himself along the way.
1. Chapter 1

"Are you kids hungry?" Sherlock asked as he shuffled into the abandoned warehouse his arms overflowing with grocery bags. He smirked as his question generated many small, happy replies and the scurries of feet from all directions.

He placed the bags onto the floor, avoiding the rush as the children hurried to grab something good to eat.

Sherlock had a vast homeless network, scattered all across London. Therefore he'd come to know nearly every vagrant being in the city, including the children who were in this very room. These were the homeless children. The children who found themselves parentless. The children whom Sherlock Holmes had decided to house and feed.

The children ranged from 7, up into late teens, and so Sherlock was very confused to see a tiny, pale, innocent face staring up at him.

James, the eldest and the acting parent of the group, having just turned 18, spotted Sherlock staring bewildered at the new arrival and trotted over to explain. "She was found alone outside the warehouse last night. Her mother must have been in your network because she knew we were here, and left her right outside" He looked sorrowfully up to Sherlock's sharp face. "She hasn't really spoken to any of us. Her name is Evie."

Sherlock nodded at him as he motioned with a hand over to the crowd of children who were contently filling their stomachs. "Grab something to eat James, you must be starving."

He looked back down to the little child, smiling encouragingly at her. "Hello Evie." He spoke softly so not to startle her, and crouched down to her level. "How old are you?"

She smiled shyly up at him and held three tiny fingers in front of her mouth.

"Three?" he gasped dramatically, eyebrows raised. A little, endearing giggle sounded from her as she cupped her mouth timidly with her small hands.

"Do you like it here, Evie?" He asked her, seriously. A three year old shouldn't be living in an abandoned building; no child should be living here. However he couldn't home over 20 children in his small Baker Street flat, but he also didn't agree with leaving such a small child, who knew no boundaries, with no understanding of danger, without a responsible adult.

She shook her head exaggeratedly, a childlike pout and frown falling across her features.

Sherlock stood abruptly, receiving an alarmed gasp from Evie as she stumbled back on her feet, her eyes wide in shock. He smiled apologetically at her, placing his hand on her back to steady her, before striding over to James. "I'm going to take her back to Baker Street for a while." He paused wondering whether that was a sensible decision. He's never had to take care of anyone. He can't even take proper care of himself according to John and quite frankly, he wasn't the best role model for a child. John had gone away for the week, visiting his sister, Harry and therefore wouldn't be back until Monday. So, if Sherlock was going to take Evie with him, he needed to be prepared to act like an adult for once.

He stood frozen for a minute or two. "She's too young to stay here." He decided nodding at James. James just smiled at him in understanding before turning and grabbing a bread roll.

"Evie." Sherlock whispered as he knelt in front of the little bundle of red hair and pink bows again, he took her tiny hands into his own large ones and smiled at her. "How do you feel about coming to live with me for a little while?"

She dropped her head forward, hiding shyly behind her fringe as she nodded slowly. "Okay" She answered in an innocent whisper.


	2. Chapter 2

"Would you like something to drink?" Sherlock asked as he lifted Evie's small body onto the sofa. He cleared his throat awkwardly as she just stared back at him silently, with big, round eyes... "Uhm, milk then?" He answered for her as he turned around and made his way into the kitchen, leaving the three year old with nothing to do.

Ducking into the fridge he found the milk and opened the lid for a sniff, to check that it hadn't gone bad. Getting milk was always John's job. If the milk were out of date, John would go and buy more. Sherlock thought that food and grocery shopping was tedious and an awful environment full of average, idiotic people, and therefore would not put himself in that surrounding. After deciding that the milk should last for a few more days, he turned around in search for a plastic cup, However, as he spun around his body created a pathetic sound that he'd never experienced from his own mouth. He squeaked inhumanely as his eyes landed on Evie whom had sneaked into the kitchen silently and stood directly behind him.

"You scared me!" He scolded, a stern finger pointing at her shocked frame. Sherlock immediately regretted it as she stumbled back in surprise and her bottom lip popped out and began trembling, her face contorting into a deep baby frown as her little hands clenched into tiny fists.

Sherlock's heart rate increased into one of panic. His brain was yelling at him to retreat, to run away from the situation. His confusion towards children and foolish emotions repelling him from the buddle of tears stood in front of him. "No." He mumbled, "No, no, no, don't cry." He stared at her as her bright green eyes pooled with tears. "No, its fine. I'm not angry." He patted the top of her head awkwardly a couple of times; a head adorning adorable red curls, before raising one eyebrow with an encouraging look. He could just about deal with a quiet, content three year old, but add emotions, and he wanted nothing more than to take her back to the warehouse and leave her there with the other children.

His eyes blew wide in horror, his breath coming out in a short gasp as two tiny arms reached up to him, her little hands continuously curling into the childlike grabby hands motion. "No." He pushed her hands away from him not wanting to succumb to her childish needs, to be forced into affection. This action however, caused him to cringe as she whimpered quietly, her small feet shuffling on the floor, turning into little stamps. "Stop." He groaned turning away from her, continuing his search for a plastic cup, which reminded him that he needs to ask Mrs. Hudson to go shopping for a toddlers necessities. Sherlock had neither the time nor patience to enter too far into the normal life. Anyway, Mrs. Hudson should enjoy it, she's spent over 7 years babying Sherlock and now she'll have an actual baby to shop for. Besides women are generally better at anything to do with children than men, right?

His head throbbed as a loud wail smacked into his eardrums. Turning around he looked helplessly at Evie. "Please stop." He frowned. "Emotions are a weakness. You'd do better not to feel any at all." He wasn't sure whether he was consciously throwing that comment at Evie to help her or whether he was trying to convince himself that he agreed with what Mycroft and his parents profusely drilled into him as a child. As a young boy he believed everything that his parents and older brother told him, because that's what little children do, they have full faith that their parents actions and lessons are only to benefit them. However, now that he's grown into his independence, he doesn't fully agree that not feeling emotions is an advantage. He'd found that out the hard way, when both boredom and depression sent him into his long lasting drug addiction. Had he expressed his emotions to someone, or even just allowed himself to cry, maybe it would have diminished the depression, even if it were just a little. Maybe it would have saved him from ever taking drugs in the first place and therefore preventing the torturous cold turkey phase.

He shook his head as he came back to the current situation. A loud, sobbing, three year old. "Hey…" He whispered kneeling on the floor in front of her. He'd decided that in fact, expressing your emotions _was_ an advantage and he didn't want to be responsible for teaching this child not to feel anything. "Shhh" He cooed. "It's okay." He held his hands out to her, waiting for her to stop stamping her feet. "Come on." He encouraged softly, his large hands enveloping her small body as he brought her into his chest. Her crying immediately ceased as she fisted his shirt into her tiny little hands, her head resting on his strong chest. She whimpered occasionally trying to curl her body into his, getting as close as she possibly could.

Sherlock climbed to his feet gracefully and she quickly curled into a ball in his arms. He carried the bundle of sniffling baby into the living room, the milk forgotten as he paced the room, whispering comforting words softly to her until the sniffling had stopped.

After she'd fallen silent, Sherlock sat himself onto the sofa, Evie still a warm ball in his arms, her face stuffed into his shirt. She mumbled an apology shyly, after a few minutes of silence and Sherlock's heart clenched painfully at the cuteness as he smiled both sympathetically and in awe of her. His arms involuntarily tightened around her, his head falling forward to rest his chin on the top of her head. "You don't need to be sorry." He whispered, a hand running through her adorable curls. "I'm sorry I shouted." He closed his eyes at the foreign feeling of the affection that he felt towards the child whom he was holding. It wasn't often that Sherlock Holmes felt a fondness for another human being, and in this very moment, he never wanted to let go.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock stared down at the sleeping bundle of pink pajamas and red curls. He loved to watch her sleep. There was something about watching children snooze that both intrigued and greatly calmed him. Her soft closed eyes, baby eyelashes fanning out on her lightly slumber flushed cheeks, not a trace of terror or upset on her face, just pure peace and tranquility. Oh, how _he_ wished that he could feel that satisfaction and serenity towards life. Instead, he was burdened with the terror of substituting his drug addiction with crime solving; a job that he loved dearly, but sometimes wished with a passion that he could fall back into his drug habit. Of course he felt to some extent selfish for even thinking of sinking that low again, especially after everything that Lestrade and even his irritating older brother had done to help drag him out of the dark depths of his drug induced mind and shove him back into the real world. He didn't feel it was fair to plummet back into that pattern. However, he was Sherlock Holmes, and Sherlock Holmes was not persuaded by others opinions, all except one. John Watson.

"Evie." He whispered softly, not intending to frighten the child as he gently shook her from her dreamland. "Mrs. Hudson has made dinner for you." He couldn't help the small half smile that spread across his cupid bow lips, as her tiny fisted hands came into contact with her eyes, rubbing them awake with a tired whimper. "Come on Evie, it's dinner time." He held out his hands to her, hers instantly reaching out in return, seeking for him to lift her into his arms. "Are you hungry?" He asked her as she rest her little red head on his shoulder, hands fisting into his shirt. He gained a small nod in return as he cuddled her into himself, his nose falling down to her adorable mop of curls, finding the scent of strawberry shampoo delightful.

Sherlock gently placed her small body onto the child's chair booster seat, which allowed her to reach the table, as though she was an adult. Mrs. Hudson had thankfully done some childcare shopping, buying the essentials for a 3 year old and she had thoroughly enjoyed herself. "Mrs. Hudson has made you sausage and mash" He placed the plate in front of her before pushing her chair closer towards the table, so she could reach her food with ease. "Do you need me to help you?" he asked, but he only got a small shake of the head in return. Nodding with an understanding smile, he took his cup of tea from the shelf and into his hands, settling himself into the chair on the opposite side of the table.

He watched her for a minute or two, a bewildered look ghosting over his features as Evie stared back at him, occasionally glancing at her food with urgency, but not making any attempt to reach for her cutlery and begin to eat. "Are you sure you don't want help?" Sherlock eyed her carefully as she once again shook her head silently.

After watching her ignore the food for a few more slow and perplexing minutes, he decided to take action. He placed his mug of tea down and reached an arm across the table, reaching for Evie's baby plastic fork but finding himself quickly retreating as a loud whine erupted from her and a stern pout on her face. "Alright." He sighed with both panic and annoyance, "You do it then." He motioned to her cutlery with a swish of the hand before bringing his tea back to his lips and sipping it gratefully.

Children are like dogs. They share the same qualities. Sherlock had a dog once, a dog that he was very fond of.

Redbeard.

Both children and pups are messy, dirty, irritating, loud, inquisitive, irritable, whimpery, happy, sad, irritable and the list could go on and on. However, Sherlock was very fond of Redbeard, and so naturally he is likewise extremely fond of Evie.

Both children and canines need attention, attention which Sherlock doesn't give willingly to just anyone. Only a special person, someone worthy of Sherlock's attention has the pleasure of receiving it.

Children also need instruction, like dogs need training to be obedient. Sherlock was good at giving orders, they didn't always get willingly or wishfully answered but he liked handing them out nonetheless.

Children and dogs both need rules but they also need discipline to stop them from running out of control. Playing with things that shouldn't be played with. Eating things that shouldn't be eaten. Touching things that aren't meant for small hands or dogs mouths. There are certain things that should be hidden from a child's eyes, things that the innocence of a young mind will never need to know. Sherlock wasn't protected from the adult world, from a young age he was exposed to things that no minor, not even an adult exceeding the prime of their existence should ever have to see. This only made him more determined to protect Evie from life's terror and torment, to keep her under his wing until she was ready to fend for herself in the big, wide world that she was yet to explore.

"Evie." He smirked, trying to hide a smile as his brain clicked into action. "I'm going to go into the lounge. Can you manage here on your own?" he pushed his chair out, away from the table, to show her his intentions were veracious. She nodded with a small smile, watching as he retreated from the room. Holding a fixated gaze on his back, her large, round eyes didn't once look away. Sherlock could feel her locked stare but didn't dare turn around; instead he grinned in a way that he hadn't experienced in a long time. A true, genuine, cheerful smile. He knew what was going on. He had done exactly the same at dinnertime when he was a toddler. He still irritatingly holds the same habit now. He loathes people watching him eat. It's an unpleasant experience, one that he'd considerably prefer to avoid, even if that means skipping considerable meals.

He turned slightly, just enough to allow him to observe Felicity's small body from the corner of his eye. What he saw caused his smile to transform into that of a tender one as he watched her reach for her fork, glancing at him now and again as she brought the plastic to her mouth, enjoying her first mouthful. Laughing silently he decided to leave her in peace to finish her meal and instead sat in his comfy chair, checking his emails for a new and interesting case to get his teeth into. The smile however, was permanent on his lips at the fondness towards the tiny tot who tonight, had shown herself to be just like him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes**

Thank you so much for your kind response to the first few chapters and for those of you who left reviews, favourited and followed! I'm glad you all seem to be enjoying it!

If there is anything that you wish to see Sherlock and Evie get up to, let me know and I'll do my best to write a chapter about it in the future. :) xx

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

Sherlock groaned as he heard a loud crash from the kitchen. He'd been emailing clients from his laptop in his bedroom and had left Evie watching some pathetic children's TV. Sherlock didn't see this as at all educational or mind stimulating for her but much to his distaste Mrs. Hudson had advised that this is what 'normal' people do and he should let her watch it. He'd just solved a rather unusual case in less than 20 minutes involving a flying lawnmower and an amputated arm and was about to start another until he was rudely interrupted. "Evie, if you've knocked my test tubes over again…" he shouted before adding "I swear to god…"

He hurried displeased down the corridor and froze at the scene before him. Evie had indeed knocked his latest experiment over and was standing frightened with a broken glass tube in her hand. "For goodness sake! I've already had to restart this experiment for the second time because of your carelessness." Sherlock didn't waste any time before scolding her. "I told you not to touch it!" Evie dropped her eyes to the floor and Sherlock could tell she was trying her utmost best to avoid his angry stare. "Don't move." He commanded pointing a finger at her as he noted the shards of glass surrounding her. "You'll cut your feet."

She scrunched her face up, eyes slowly pooling with tears. This was when Sherlock noticed. He could now see the pained squint at the edge of her bright green eyes. It was the same look John showed when injured. As much as Sherlock hated to admit it, he couldn't always keep John Watson safe. Although he'd be damned if he didn't try.

Sherlock stepped warily towards the small girl he'd grown to quite enjoy having around, avoiding the smashed glass that had fanned across the kitchen floor. Bending down in front of her he took the test tube carefully from her tiny hand and placed it on the table behind him. "This is why I tell you not to touch my things. I told you for a reason, Evie." He frowned looking into her teary eyes. "Where does it hurt?" he placed his thumb and forefinger on her chin, gently twisting her head to check for any injuries on her face. His eyes widened in horror, across her temple was a blood seeping scratch about 2 inches long. He could see it wasn't deep enough to cause alarm but still wasn't sure how to handle the situation and Doctor John Watson wasn't back until tomorrow afternoon. "Mrs Hudson!" He yelled causing Evie to jump rather dramatically and therefore pushing her already heightened emotions out into the open. A loud wail hammered rather suddenly into Sherlock's eardrums startling him. His hand dropped from her tiny chin and he held them both up in surrender. "Sorry. Please stop, I don't know how to make it better." Her eyebrows were scrunched in a deep baby frown, eyes tightly closed and her grabby hands reached out to him.

"Sherlock…" Mrs Hudson entered the room confusion sweeping across her features upon seeing the glass. "What have you done to the poor child?" He looked helplessly up at her. "I don't know how to make her stop. She's cut her face." Mrs Hudson stepped closer careful not to embed the glass into her own feet. "Looks like she wants you to hold her, dear." She found the dustpan and brush in the cupboard and begun to sweep up the mess, her 'not your landlady' comment forgotten in this precise moment. "Sherlock." She looked at him with concern noticing he hadn't moved and the panic in his eyes. "You see injuries far worse than this all the time. You know she's okay, stop overreacting." He met her gaze. "They're rarely caused by me, Mrs. Hudson, and if they are they always deserve it. I would never hurt a child." He tugged at his hair, guilt washing over him. "This isn't anyone's fault. Children are often injuring themselves. Take her into the living room and we'll take look at her face." She replied continuing to clear the mess.

Evie, with her hands still outstretched towards Sherlock begun to stamp her little feet in frustration at not receiving the attention she desired. He quickly swept her up into his arms, horrified that she might step on a piece of glass and injure herself further, therefore prolonging the head-thumping racket she was making.

Much to Sherlock's relief, her cries instantly settled as she burrowed her little red face into his shirt, tear-stained cheeks creating small damp patches across his chest. "It's okay, you're okay now." He wiped his thumb gently over the wound emanating a small whimper from Evie. "Sorry." He pulled his hand away. "Mrs. Hudson will clean this up and then we can watch that pig programme you like on the telly." Evie's eyes lit up at this comment. " Peppa!" she grinned a watery smile her eyes still red and puffy. "Yeah." he replied his hand involuntarily rubbing soft circles on her back. "That's it. Peppa the pig."

Once Mrs. Hudson had cleaned the wound and placed a dressing over Evie's temple, she waved her departure and continued to watch Eastenders in her downstairs flat. Sherlock fetched a beaker of warm milk for the small child and a fluffy blanket from John's room, which he and Evie climbed under once settled comfortably onto the sofa. Much to his disfavour, as promised he switched the channel over to Nick Jr. which was luckily showing Peppa Pig and Evie squeaked her seal of approval clapping her hands excitedly.

"Yes, yes…" Sherlock mumbled with fake enthusiasm "I know, how wonderful." Evie stared up at him, a small smile on her face and he couldn't help but smile back ruffling her cute curls. She snuggled into his side, pulling the blanket up closer to her face and rubbing small fists into her tired eyes.

He couldn't wait for John to arrive home and meet her, they were going to get along brilliantly he could tell. John understood ordinary people a lot more than Sherlock ever would and therefore he would be able to handle and treat Evie better than he could and the thought of the little girl having the most perfect father figure Sherlock could ever hope for made him extremely happy. John Watson was the greatest, kindest and most thoughtful man Sherlock had ever had the good fortune of knowing and for some strange reason, a reason that Sherlock would never understand had chosen the detective to be his best friend. Evie sat up with a giggle, jogging Sherlock from his pleasant thoughts. She was looking up at him with big eyes, a goofy grin on her face whilst pointing at the television. "Dinosaur." She laughed as George Pig roared holding the green soft toy and splashing it into the bath. Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle at the innocence of it. "That's right. Well done." He touched her cheek softly with the back of his fingers, guilty that his experiment caused her harm. "It'll be better when John gets home. I promise." And that night they both slept soundly in the living room, Evie in a warm embrace against the detective's chest and children's TV softly lulling them both into dreamland.


End file.
